Saturday, 27 October 2012



1. Follow Jackie and Dani if you don’t already. They do follow back.
2. Your Flash Fiction piece cannot be any longer than 300 words. Sorry… that’s part of the challenge.
3. You must use the MANDATORY 5 words listed below…
4. Post your Flash Fiction piece any day from Friday Oct 26th thru Monday, Oct. 29th.
5. It’s a blog hop, so… hop around to other participating blogs and leave them some awesome comments.
6. Have fun.

Your flash fiction piece can be scary, comical, romantic, or whatever you choose, just be creative!

The winners will be posted on HALLOWEEN! That’s right, Wednesday, Oct. 31st. Jackie and Dani will each choose a winner. That’s right – two winners!

PRIZES: A grab bag and candy. The winners will get the biggest bags we can find of their favorite candy along with some spookified items.

Oh, and yes, this blogfest is international. So what are you ghouls waiting for? Get hopping!
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The razor sharp edge of the envelop cut her lower lip making it bleed profusely.  Oh that’s great, she thought, now I’ll have blood all over this letter.   I wonder if the postman will realise it’s Halloween, ha, ha that should flag up a Health and Safety issue.  I wonder if there will be a memo from Head Office about wearing gloves to stop contamination from blood products.
She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs.  She’d have to get going and start preparations for tonight’s party if there was a ghost of chance things were going to go with a swing.
She bent down and started searching through her pan drawers for the biggest saucepan she could find.  It needed to be nearly as big as a cauldron for the amount of soup she was going to have to make for the guests for the evening party.
She started chopping the ingredients, onions, celery sticks, carrots and potatoes.  She gently fried the vegetables whilst opening tins of chopped tomatoes, tins of tomato puree, packets of passata and vegetable stock cubes, she added water to the pan, bay leaves, some sugar,  red and white wine vinegar and topped it all up with full fat milk. 
She would let that simmer for half an hour or so before blending it in the mixer.   On a tray she would arrange bowls of celery salt and celery seeds, mixed crushed peppercorns, with a bottle of Worcestershire sauce, a small bottle of Tabasco sauce and a small bottle of vodka along with wedges of lemon for the adults to add to their soup for a bit of  spice.
She printed off a label that said


with a picture of the Jack-O-Lanterns filled with chopped fruit she had made previously.   

Word count: 300 / 302 with title

Tuesday, 23 October 2012


100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#63

Julia says:  Here in the UK there is definitely change in the air. Scotland is going to have referendum to leave the UK, we will soon be able to vote on the appointment of police commissioners and here in Bristol, we will soon have a Mayor. The weather is changing albeit quite slowly and the energy companies are increasing their prices so it must nearly be winter.
As usual you have 100 words to add to these 4. Keep your pieces suitable for a PG certificate, link back to this post so others can join in and if you can visit other pieces that is playing nice.
The prompt this week is:
… and winter will bring …

The nights begin to drawn in and the clocks turn back
Our throats begin to hurt, noses are blocked and we start to hack
Even those of us who have taken full advantage of the flu jabs
Aren't always free of the nasty viruses or cold bugs
We draw our curtains closed during the late afternoon
Feeling bereft of the daylight, suffering the gloom
The harsh electric glare takes the place of natural sunlight
We wrap up and hunker down and watch television all night
Gently falling, swirling soft snow flakes makes the ground slippery
And winter will bring Christmas fare, tinsel and frippery

Monday, 22 October 2012



To celebrate the release of her NA novel IF I LET YOU GO, Kyra Lennon (Write Here, Write Now) is hosting the LETTING GO BLOG hop.  She is not holding a blog tour, but instead invites:
On October 22nd, I invite you to share some stories about letting go. Was there a time when you had to let go of someone or something? How did it make you feel? How did you handle it? Or if that's too personal - which I completely understand - how about writing a piece of flash fiction? 

The only rules are - obviously - it has to be related to letting go, and please keep it to a maximum of 500 words.

When the day arrives, I will hop around to all the entries, along with my independent judge (otherwise known as "Mum" LOL), and the story that touches us the most will win a $10 Amazon gift card!

This is my submission:

Two beautiful baby boys Tyler and Bradley
Should have always been part of their family
Born too early and unable to stay
They will remember them every single day

Candles are lit remembering their baby boys
October 15th at seven p.m. remembered with joy
They touched their lives for such a little while
They did so wish they could have seen them grow and smile.

They have to let go although they are still bereaved
They wonder what in life their sons could have achieved
Footballers, policemen, doctors, lawyers, soldiers in the army
They’ve cried and cried and let the tears fall freely

Grief stricken they try hiding the pain and the sorrow
Each day they have to wake up and face tomorrow
They have a young daughter to love and care for
With their bravest faces they talk about her twin brothers

They would have raised them with love and kindness
But now their boys shall remain ever ageless
In their hearts their memories are stored forever
Every day with their silent prayers
Safe in the wings of angels guarding you
When they said goodbye and adieu
They look into the night sky and fancy they see you there
Looking down on them knowing they will always care

So hard to let go
So hard not to know
So difficult to keep on living
So hard to stop wishing
For what will not be
With love from mummy and daddy


Friday, 19 October 2012



In the run-up to Halloween at the end of this month we have been requested to submit chilling stories of ghosts and haunted locations and maybe even love from beyond the grave.  A romantic element is essential but stories with a thrilling edge of fear and dread to add to the romantic tension building between our Hero/Heroine.
Word count is 800 - 1000 of prose/prosetry

there is still time to enter .........

Here is my submission:


So this is it.  Today is the day, the final step.  Ellen follows her husband George as they walk up the flagstone path and approach the white wooden door.  She watches him put the key in the lock and turn it slowly.  Ellen takes a deep breath as the door opens and she steps over the threshold.  She stops a moment, closes her eyes and whispers reverentially, ‘hello house.’
‘Did you say something?’ asked George.
‘I was just introducing myself to the house,’ she replied.
George shook his head at her quirkiness. 
The removal men call out wanting to know if they can start bringing in the furniture.  She directs the foreman to bring in the box containing the kitchen items first.   As she fills the kettle from the old fashioned taps over the butler sink she wonders, not for the first time, if this is actually the right decision.
When they told their family and friends that they were selling up and moving everybody was flabbergasted.  You’ve lived in that house since 1982 they gasped in shock.  Why don't you wait, don't make any hasty decisions. 
George patiently explained to them that retirement was imminent and they wanted to get settled before that happened.  What he neglected to tell them was that Ellen had seen the property details in the window of an Estate Agent in town and rushed home to tell him that she wanted to move.  Not for the first time his wife was able to surprise him especially when said she felt the house was ‘calling’ to her.  He didn't bother to argue. 
‘Nice cuppa, missus,’ said the foreman of the removal company.  Grunts of appreciation came from the other men who had their mouths full of chocolate biscuits.  As Ellen moved to take the tray from them she overheard a couple of the young lads talking.
‘They won't last long,’ said the tall lanky one, who sported many piercings.  ‘Yeah, nobody does,’ replied his mate, ‘ghostly goings-on.’  They were laughing as they manoeuvred the large dresser down from the lorry.
Interesting, thought Ellen but then dismissed the conversation as she became very busy putting the house to rights.
A couple of weeks later everything was in its place.   Ellen opened the oven door to check on the beef casserole that was slowly cooking the oven.
 ‘What’s up,’ said George as he expertly uncorked the bottle of red wine.
‘Somebody touched me on the shoulder,’ came the reply.  ‘Can you feel that draught?’
‘You know I never feel anything like that,’ said George despondently as he passed the glass of wine to Ellen.
Lying in bed later that night Ellen tried to recreate the feeling she had earlier when she was in the kitchen.  Perhaps I’m too tired to do anything now she thought drowsily as she drifted off in to sleep. 
He was cold, so, so cold and it was dark, so very dark, pitch black he couldn’t see.  He could hear somebody screaming.
Ellen woke up with a start.  Luckily it was just a dream, well a bit more than a dream bordering on a nightmare.  She had a feeling of loss and despair following her around for the rest of the day that she couldn’t shake off. 
George came home and noticed her mood straightaway.  Ellen explained her dream and how she had felt all day. 
‘I think somebody wants me to know something,’ she said.  ‘I feel as if I should know this chap,’ she said thoughtfully.  ‘There must be something here that would explain it,’ said Ellen as she looked around the sitting room.  Everything seemed totally normal, nothing out of place.
She snuggled into his shoulder, smelling his aftershave, as she nodded her head.  ‘Can we sort the attic out at the weekend?’
‘You’re a slave driver; you know that, don't you?  I work all week and then you want me to hump more boxes around in the attic at the weekend,’ grumbled George.
She squeezed him hard and whispered, ‘thank you.’
Ellen slept very well that night and the following night but Friday night was a different story. 
Now along with being very, very cold, so icily cold somewhere very, very dark, he was also wet.  There was water all around him.  He could hear people screaming.  He opened his mouth and started swallowing freezing cold water, so salty to taste.  He was drowning.  He was falling, tumbling, deeper and deeper into the cold wet depths of the ocean.  The noise was horrendous, crashing noises, deep booming sounds echoing through the volume of water.
She was being shaken.  She opened her eyes and looked at George staring at her.  ‘Are you alright?’  She nodded dumbly and stuttered, ‘night-night-nightmare.’
The next morning after a leisurely weekend breakfast George and Ellen started to redistribute the boxes in the attic.  Ellen crawled into the eaves of the roof.  There was a leather chest pushed deep in the recess.   George pulled it out, brushing off the dust and cobwebs. 
As soon as Ellen lifted the lid and saw some small tissue wrapped items, she knew they held the answer. 
They brought the leather chest down into the living room, opened the lid and took out, amongst other things, a plaque, a tin brooch, and a couple of pictures. As she looked at the items turning them over in her hands, she could feel the love passing down the 95 years they had been in storage.
Plaque commemorting Walter Kelly

Walter Kelly (tin brooch)

Walter Kelly (standing)
Tilly Hunt

With tears in her eyes, Ellen realised that Walter was a sailor who lost his life in World War I.  She listened to the voice in her head as Walter Kelly told her that he regretted not telling Tilly Hunt that he loved her. 

Ellen hung the plaque of Walter on the living room wall in the cottage and said ‘hello’ to him every time she passed, sometimes she blew him a kiss and sometimes she touched the plaque. 
She didn’t have any more nightmares.

Word count: 999

Wednesday, 17 October 2012


This month the prompt is:

In 300 words or less create a superhero-like character and describe how he/she became a superhero. Include his/her special powers and how he/she uses them for good.    
Here is my submission:

Sylvia looked up towards the cloudless pale blue sky
Past the tower blocks using her inner eye
She focused all her energies on the matter in hand
She stooped down gracefully to gather a handful of sand
With the sea at her back and the hotels in the foreground
She looked like any other maternal figure strolling on the beach
So quickly did she chant under her breath thinking that each
Time she stood still it would seem she was just resting her bones
As she flicked her fingers over the sapphire blue birthstone
She held in the pocket of her white cable knitted cardigan
She trickled the grains of sand through the fingers of her other hand
She pictured the young girl in the top floor apartment crying
Gathered all the sorrow in the room that was arching and swirling
Caught it in her mind and immediately turned towards the ocean deep
She stood strong and extended her hand out with one full sweep
As the grief dissipated into the sea spray, taken by the white rollers
The sea creatures would catch any that tried to stray back to the beaches
Later on in the evening sitting in the restaurant for a meal with her daughter
She caught a glimpse of the girl sitting at the next table and saw the aura
Enveloping the teenager’s head radiating out with pastel coloured hues
She knew then that her powers were still strong and she could rescue
Some struggling poor souls who would never know of her super powers
She takes their troubles and disperses them with a flick of her fingers
Rubbing the magic birthstone bequeathed down through the generations
To the first born daughters from the noble blue blooded British maidens.

Word count: 292

Tuesday, 16 October 2012


100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#62

This week we are staying with normal life and the prompt is:

…it can’t be that time….

You have, as usual, 100 words to add to these 5 making 105 in total. Keep it suitable for PG certificate and please put a link somewhere back to this post so that others can find it and join us.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
The hands moved round the clock
It can't be that time again surely
My poor old body is all achy
The alarm shrills its strident sound
One foot creeps out onto the ground
The other one wants to stay warm
The messages slowly inch up to inform
The rest of my tired limbs to awaken
Time to get up and swing into action
To face another day commuting
With other people sniffing and shuffling
Standing on the cold concrete platform
Ready to engage another day and perform
Kindness rarely seen except in dreams
As my inner mind silently blasphemes.

Friday, 5 October 2012

Cocktails and Canapes

This challenge is to celebrate the birthdays of our hosts Donna and Denise. 
Happy birthday to you two lovely ladies.  Librans are the best (I am also one but September).

 400 words of prose/prosetry and the prompt is:
Have you ever been to a birthday party that was so extravagant it actually made you jealous?  Create a story or poem in which a character goes to a birthday party that is completely out of his/her league.  This especially includes the present that you got this person which was totally inadequate.


Harriet heard the soft thud as the mail dropped through the letter box on to the door mat. It was mainly buff coloured envelopes, mostly bills but one stood out from the rest.
An ivory coloured envelope, thick paper, embossed with monogrammed initials on the front and back flap. She opened the tissue lined envelope and withdrew a delicately perfumed gilt edge card with beautiful calligraphy printed on the inside.
Harriet read the words on the card with her heart sinking.
Cocktails and Canapés
Who do they think they are?  Lord and Lady of the Manor?  They bought the Mill House, renovated it from its derelict state and turned it into a show home. So this would be a glitz and glamour, all show and no substance party.
Her sister was always bragging, not in words but in material ways, good clothes, hair always perfectly groomed and acrylic nails that she always tapped on a table whenever they went out for lunch or she deigned to visit the ordinary three bedroom semi detached house that Harriet and George owned outright.
It was a nice balmy summer’s night, Harriet and George arrived promptly at The Mill House at eight o’clock.   There wasn’t another car in sight so they knew they were unfashionably ‘on time.’
A butler type gentleman answered the ring of the door and gently ushered them through to the large ground floor space.  In one corner of the room a mini orchestra was tuning up. 
Groups of helium balloons were dotted around the oak coloured parquet flooring, gold and silver coloured with hearts and butterflies printed on them in arch formations containing flower arrangements in the middle.  Such a beautiful effect they made with the matching tablecloths and tableware.
A waitress hovered by their elbows offering a tray of drinks and canapés.  Half of the items on the tray they had no idea what might be inside them.
Her sister, Florence, sashayed towards them in a drift of expensive perfume as her chiffon dress swished along the floor.  The women air kissed each other on either cheek and then Florence kissed George on the cheek as he quickly moved his lips away from the ruby red, Botox lips.  He thrust their wrapped gift at her.
‘Oh, thank you so much.  What a lovely book on cleaning.  It will be so helpful in our Merry Maids business.’

Wednesday, 3 October 2012


100 Word Challenge – Week#60

JULIA SAYS: I’ve decided I’m being far to kind to you so this week I want you to be funny! I want you to write in the genre of comedy. The prompt is:

… suddenly it was in my hand ….

As usual you have 100 words to add to those making 106 all together. The prompt must be in the piece and it should be suitable for a PG certificate.

I woke up suddenly staring straight ahead
Realised that the pillows needed to be plumped
Feathers were clumping together gathering fast
Punched them with my fist then shook them in the air
Knocking out the dreams and the previous nightmare
Then suddenly it was in my hand, this inanimate object
My favourite one out of many that I hoped to collect
With his little ears and brown droopy panda eyes staring at me,
My fingers stroking and caressing his plump, round tummy
So even at fifty-plus-something you can still be a silly-billy
Especially when nobody is watching but then you write it in poetry!

Word count: 106